


don't be a hero, theseus

by cinderstoashes



Series: Cataclysm [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Dream Smp, Established Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Kind of? You’ll see, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), don't trust me i don't even trust myself, no beta we die like schlatt, sbi family, someone stop me from combining my hyperfixations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29394156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderstoashes/pseuds/cinderstoashes
Summary: “The Trojan War is an odd place to start with Greek mythology.”“I know the basics already. And it’s notreallymythology. It’s our history.”“Maybe.” Techno shrugs. “Well, I guess you could say it started the way all of our stories do. The gods were fighting with each other, and they decided it would be a brilliant idea to get a human involved.”or:Technoblade tells Tommy about the Trojan War. AU set in the same universe as the Percy Jackson series.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Cara | CaptainPuffy/Niki | Nihachu, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Cataclysm [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168988
Comments: 12
Kudos: 118
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	don't be a hero, theseus

**Author's Note:**

> Listen..................if I don't know what I'm doing, then no one can tell me I'm doing it wrong.
> 
> This is my first fic for the Dream SMP and the first contribution I've made to this fandom in general. The Percy Jackson series was my entire childhood, and this fic is essentially an excuse for me to combine the two greatest hyperfixations I've had in my life. 
> 
> It's not necessary to have read Percy Jackson in order to understand the story, but if you haven't, all you need to know is: the Greek gods are alive in modern society and they're still having demigod children (half god, half human). Demigods go to a place called Camp Half-Blood in order to train to fight against monsters. The gods' home, Mount Olympus, is accessed through the Empire State Building.
> 
> This fic is essentially a "trailer" for a much larger, multi-chapter story that I'll probably end up writing but haven't decided on yet. Hence, it's not exactly linear and definitely doesn't follow the traditional format of a fanfic, so sorry bout that if it's hard to follow. Also, most of the godly parents and characterizations are based off of [gays4thebloodgod's](https://gays4thebloodgod.tumblr.com/) 'pjo ramblings' tag, so check it out if you wanna see her 10000% correct interpretations of the SMP characters in the PJO-verse!
> 
> Enjoy~!!

It’s winter. The first snowfall of the season dusts the stairs that lead up to the porch and the roof of the stables. Tommy presses his nose against the window, smiling at how his breath fogs up the glass. When he leans back, he drags his finger across the fog to draw shapes in it.

The floor creaks behind him. Tommy turns, and it’s Techno, covered in flurries of snow and still holding his sword in his hand. The sword is coated in a thin layer of a monster’s dust. 

“Where’s Philza?” Tommy asks.

Techno shrugs as he leans against the doorway. “Wilbur wanted that fancy notebook for writing songs, or something like that. They wanted to get it before we get snowed in. Philza asked me to make sure you get to bed on time.”

“Can I stay up late?”

“Does it look like I care?”

Tommy grins. Techno is fifteen and couldn’t care _less_ about being a responsible figure for Tommy to look up to.

But before Tommy can enjoy this victory, Techno sits down on the kitchen table with a cloth in his hand and he starts to wipe the monster dust off of his sword. “If you stay up though, you’re doing the rest of my chores if you want me to keep quiet.”

Tommy whirls around, back now facing the window. “You can’t do that!”

“Your choice.” His voice is dull, like he doesn’t care one way or the other.

“Fine,” Tommy wipes the last of the fog from the window. “I’ll go get ready for bed then.”

Techno shrugs. 

Before Tommy leaves the room, though, he turns to where Techno is sitting and asks, “What monster did you kill?”

Techno is silent, and for a moment Tommy wonders if Techno hadn’t heard him. But then Tommy sees how Techno’s hand is still now. The cloth remains pressed against the blade of his sword, soft cotton against celestial bronze. But it doesn’t move. Tommy can see where the sword glints and the shine reflects some of the kitchen lights, and where the sheen is dulled by the remains of another beast.

“Techno?” he asks again, just to make sure.

It takes a moment before Techno responds, “Just a cyclops.”

It’s then that Tommy notices the beads that rest against the collar of Techno’s throat. Nine beads. One for every summer he’s spent at Camp Half-Blood. He _only_ spends summers there, opting to stay with Philza for the rest of the year. 

Philza and Wilbur say that Tommy’s still too young to go to camp. _Next year,_ Wilbur always says, _when he’s eight. Most of the younger campers are at least eight._ So Tommy doesn’t know much about the camp outside of what Techno and Wilbur tell him. He can, however, recall stories of the cyclopses that work in the forges and aid the camp in times of need. 

“Not a good one, right?” Tommy asks. “Not one of the helpful cyclopses?”

Techno releases a shaky breath. “No. Not a good one.”

Tommy nods, and turns to go upstairs. His room is as he left it earlier in the day, but it’s darker now and one of the lightbulbs needs to be changed. Tommy sits at his desk and flicks at the miniature balance scales that rest in the corner. He puts one of his erasers on one of the scales and pokes the other to even them out. When he stops, the scale with the eraser on it goes down.

One day, he’ll go to Camp Half-Blood. His godly mother will claim him and he’ll stay in her cabin with his other half siblings. He’ll train and become a fighter as good as Technoblade.

But that day is far. And he may be young, but he understands why Techno needs to go to camp and Tommy doesn’t just yet. Technoblade is the best swordsman the camp has seen in decades. He’s among the most powerful demigods of his generation, the most intelligent son of Athena since Daedalus. They _need_ him.

It’s past ten when Techno comes upstairs and peeks into Tommy’s room. “You’re still not in bed,” he scolds.

Tommy looks up from his desk, where he’s been sitting ever since he went to his room. The snow is harsher now. It’ll be hard to shovel tomorrow. “I’m not sleepy.”

“You look dead on your feet.”

“I’m _tired,_ not sleepy,” Tommy clarifies, stealing one of Wilbur’s favorite lines. “There’s a difference.” He flicks the balance scales again, and this time, it hits the edge of a pile of books that he’ll _never_ read. Most are on Greek mythology and belong to Techno anyways, but Philza drops them off in Tommy’s room sometimes in the hopes that he’ll actually pick one up.

Tommy adjusts the edge of the pile and stares at the one on the bottom for a second. 

_The Iliad._

“The Iliad’s about the Trojan War, right?”

Confusion crosses Techno’s face for a moment, but then he sees where Tommy’s hand lies, pointing to the book. “Yeah, it is.”

“That’s the one with the wooden horse?”

“Yes, but there’s more to it than that.”

Tommy thinks about it for a moment, then sits up and does his best to stare Techno down (even though he must look ridiculous being so much younger and still sitting while Techno is standing). “Can you tell me about it?”

Techno raises an eyebrow. “Like…a bedtime story?”

It shouldn’t be as startling as it is. But the way Techno phrases it pulls an old memory out of Tommy, the faint outline of a woman holding scales in one hand and a sword in the other, the gentle hands of a man who might’ve been his father. Before monsters tore his father apart, at least. Before Tommy was on his own. Before Wilbur found him hiding in the forest, waiting to be found by a dad who wasn’t coming for him.

He doesn’t need a _bedtime story_. What Tommy _needs_ is to know more about gods and monsters. He needs to know what’s waiting for him, because he’s a demigod, and walking the line between god and mortal is something that Tommy will have to do until he dies. The more he knows, the better he’ll be at surviving without needing to rely on Techno or Philza or even Wilbur. And the Trojan War surely has enough stories of gods, monsters, and everything in between.

“Well don’t say it like _that_!” Tommy wrinkles his nose. “It makes me sound like a little kid.”

“You’re seven. You’re an _infant_.”

“Am not!” Tommy stands now and resists the urge to shove his brother. “I wanna know more!”

Techno’s eye twitches. “You could _read_.”

“We’re _demigods_. Our brains are hardwired for Ancient Greek, not _english_.”

He’s right, and Techno knows it. Demigods are generally more comfortable with Ancient Greek than they are with any other language. Most schools misdiagnose it as dyslexia. Tommy wouldn’t know if that would’ve applied to him. He hasn’t ever been to a formal school.

“Reading would still be good practice,” Techno reminds him. “Philza’s been teaching you, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, but—” Tommy cuts himself off. “I’m still not _good_ at it. Besides, Greeks didn’t really use books, right?”

Techno nods reluctantly. “That’s true. They told most of the myths orally. That’s why there are a lot of conflicting stories about the myths. Hardly anyone wrote anything down.” He and Tommy stare at each other for a second, and then Techno huffs. “Get in bed before I change my mind.”

“Yes!” Tommy grins and runs around to grab some pajamas from his dresser, then he runs to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth.

“You flossed, right?” Techno asks as Tommy settles down under the covers.

“Yes yes, I already told you I did.”

Techno narrows his eyes, untrusting. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Of course!” Tommy lies, “I’ve never ever lied in my life, not _once_.”

He definitely doesn’t believe Tommy, not for a second, but he still sits at the end of Tommy’s bed and throws a stuffed minotaur pillow at Tommy. It hits him in the face and when Tommy throws it right back at him, Techno catches it with ease. “Calm down, Theseus,” Techno drones. Tommy laughs at the nickname. “The Trojan War is an odd place to start with Greek mythology.”

“I know the basics already. And it’s not _really_ mythology. It’s our history.”

“Maybe.” Techno shrugs. There’s a spark of amusement in his eyes. Tommy loves it when he can see that there’s still life inside of his brother. That it hasn’t all been torn out of him. “Well, I guess you could say it started the way all of our stories do. The gods were fighting with each other, and they decided it would be a _brilliant_ idea to get a human involved.” Sarcasm lays thick in his voice, enough that Tommy sees the picture that Techno is painting _clearly_.

“What did they do?” he asks.

“The goddesses Hera, Aphrodite, and my mother, Athena, all fought over a golden apple that was supposed to be given to whichever of them was the most beautiful. They asked a prince of Troy to judge them and give the apple to one of them. But he couldn’t decide, so they bribed him. Gods don’t like playing fair, after all.”

* * *

Three boys race through the woods. The one on front laughs at his friends who are a considerable distance behind him. He grips the flag in his hand, all he has to do is make it to the creek, and he _wins_.

“Dream!” Sapnap yells. “He’s like an _acrobat,_ what in Hades—?!”

Dream sees the creek and breaks into a sprint. Sapnap manages to gain a few feet, and Dream can even feel the brush of his fingers against the back of his shirt as Sapnap tries to grab him. 

But then Dream’s feet hit the water of the creek, and Dream yells in victory, “You lose! You _lose_!”

Dream slows until he’s standing still, and then other demigods emerge from the treeline and crowd around him, cheering.

“Victory to Hermes!” Puffy calls out. She tackles Dream in a hug and ruffles his hair, something Dream only lets _her_ do. “Cabin Eleven takes the laurels!” 

Capture the Flag is one of Dream’s favorite activities at camp. Sapnap would appear to disagree. “You’re a reckless piece of shit,” he tells Dream through gasps when he manages to fight through the crowd of campers that surround him. “You took off your armor to run quicker? What if someone _maimed_ you?”

Dream grins. “Nah, no one would.”

From behind Sapnap, George grumbles, “I would certainly _like_ to. I told you we should’ve teamed up for this game.”

Dream laughs, and his two friends stare at him like they’d like nothing more than to pummel him. “But it’s so much more _fun_ this way,” he says, and the words feel too familiar on his tongue, like he’s had more opportunities to say them than he remembers.

_[“How did they bribe him?”_

_“Well, my mother offered him knowledge, and Hera offered him power. But he chose Aphrodite, who offered him the hand of the most beautiful woman in the world.”]_

Dream takes George’s hand in his and swings it back and forth between them. “We can make an alliance for the next game. Hermes and Aphrodite? Easy win.”

“Don’t be a prick,” George glares at him, but he angles his hand to lace his fingers through Dream’s more comfortably.

“I knew you’d cave if he asked,” Sapnap says, “George I _told you_ he would. All you need to do is bat your eyelashes and Dream will literally do _anything_ you want. It’s a fucking Aphrodite thing.”

“I didn’t use charmspeak,” George defends. His hand slips through Dream’s fingers, and Dream laughs his ass off as his best friends start mindlessly arguing. George’s hand finds his own again, at one point. It always does.

_[“She was the queen of Sparta?”_

_“Yes, she was. But history calls her Helen of Troy.”]_

The sun sets and after the campfire, Dream walks George to his cabin. There’s a moment where they’re hidden in darkness and there aren’t other campers wandering about. Dream presses George against the wall of Cabin Ten and kisses him deep enough that the world around them is nothing but white noise and every breath he takes contains something of George; his scent, his presence, a tinge of his magic.

“There’s another quest,” Dream whispers against George’s lips. He leans back for a second, George’s face cradled in his hands. “Come with me.”

George nods as Dream’s thumb brushes over his lip. “I will,” he whispers. “I always will.”

The smile that claws its way across Dream’s face is more soft than anything. “You always will,” Dream echoes. He kisses George again like George’s touch is something _necessary,_ something he _needs,_ can’t survive _without._

Years later, George stands amidst a battlefield that litters the air with the dust of slain monsters. Dream stands across from him, and when he holds a hand out towards George, George steps back.

“ _Please,_ understand,” Dream chokes out, his voice more desperate than anything he’s ever heard himself force out. But there aren’t any words for this, and he’s terrified of losing everything. His throat burns as he tries to justify it, “I couldn’t drag either of you into this.”

George’s eyes are _cold_. “…’Drag’. That word implies that we wouldn’t have followed you willingly.” There’s no kindness in his dark eyes, and whatever pieces of his love Dream has managed to keep clawed into George’s heart, the son of Aphrodite tears out himself.

_[“The face that launched a thousand ships.”]_

The war council takes their seats around the ping-pong table. Counselors from all of the cabins glance nervously at each other, the children of opposing gods forced to choose between loyalty to their parents or loyalty to each other.

With Philza gone, in the Underworld to speak with his father, Hades, the campers look to Eret as their default leader. Eret steps into the role gracefully, sitting at the head of the table. Their shades cover their eyes despite the dim light and they lean back in their seat leisurely. 

“We should figure out where we all stand,” Puffy suggests, hoping to quell the fear and anxiety around the table.

From across the table, Niki’s eyes are full of pain. “I think it’s rather obvious.”

Eret nods. They lean forward in their seat, and their words are blunt, cutting deep into everyone’s greatest fears. “Niki is right. The gods have already begun to pick sides. We need to fortify the camp, or we’ll be torn apart in somebody else’s conflict.”

“That doesn’t mean we prepare for _war,_ ” Bad says. Next to him, Niki looks away.

This time, when Eret speaks, there’s certainty in their voice, and everyone knows that they’re right. “We’re _already_ at war.”

_[“Troy protected Paris, refusing to return Helen to her husband. In turn, the kings of Greece answered the call and sailed to fight the Trojans.”_

_“Including Achilles! The best warrior in all of Greek history!”_

_“That can be debated, but yes, generally he’s referred to as the strongest of the Greeks.”]_

Dream is the fastest person at camp, but once locked in battle, Techno conquers. Sapnap can barely keep up with the two of them. He’s only watching from the stands of the combat arena, but his eyes struggle to distinguish between where their individual weapons begin and end.

For a second, Sapnap thinks Dream stands a chance. He hasn’t been training for as long, but he’s _fast_ and _agile_. Then their blades clash again, and Techno steps into Dream’s space, twisting his sword until Dream’s arm is caught at an angle that forces him to drop his sword.

Dream glares at Techno, and the son of Athena just makes a big show of yawning. “You’re not relying enough on your weapon,” he tells Dream. “If you spend a fight doing nothing but protecting yourself, you won’t win.”

Dream smiles bitterly, “I was trying to keep my head attached to my body.”

“I wouldn’t have beheaded you. My mother asked me to refrain from killing campers.”

“Must be _so hard_.”

“Some days more than others.” Techno holds out his hand, and Dream clasps it so that Techno can help him to his feet. “You fight better with your axe. Your skills with a sword are above average already, there’s no need to practice.”

Dream is silent. It’s enough for Sapnap to know what he’s thinking. 

Techno must see it too, and his voice doesn’t soften, but his words are more reassuring than they’ve been so far. “You’ll be fine on your quest tomorrow. You don’t need more training. Just get your supplies ready.”

“Yeah yeah,” Dream mutters. Sapnap knows that Dream will never admit it, but until he’s able to beat Technoblade in a fight, he’ll never really be pleased with his skill.

_[“If you call me Theseus, does that make you Achilles?”_

_“Why would I be Achilles?”_

_“You’re the best swordfighter, duh! Clearly not the brightest though…”_

_“Brat.”_

_“Hey!”_

_“No, I wouldn’t be Achilles.”]_

The next time Sapnap and Dream spar, they’re sharing the arena with other pairs of fighters from cabins. At the other end of the arena, Techno is sparring with Wilbur.

Wilbur’s always looked more comfortable with a guitar in his hand than a sword. A bow if _absolutely necessary_. But Techno has always been protective of Wilbur. Sapnap knows, just like every demigod, that monsters don’t care about pacifism. A demigod without a weapon is always a damned one.

~~_Things I Remember_ ~~

~~_\- Sparring with Techno as a kid_ ~~

Techno wins each round with ease. He isn’t the type of teacher to let his students win out of pity or kindness. He makes sure that everyone sees their skill with their own eyes, even if it’s at the end of a blade. That means, of course, he never loses.

_‘Technoblade never dies,’ Wilbur laughs manically. His hands are stained with his brother’s blood._

Sapnap looks away from Dream for a second to see Wilbur laugh as Techno helps him stand the same way he’d helped Dream after _they_ sparred. Dream takes the opportunity to charge Sapnap and disarm him. Sapnap snaps back into the fight too quickly, and unprepared, Dream twists the blade out of his hand the same way Techno twisted it out of his.

Somewhere behind him, George is laughing, but Sapnap just turns and sees Techno adjusting the way Wilbur holds a sword.

_[“Why not?”_

_“Because Achilles was more than his skill in combat. He was a demigod who lost everything. His childhood, his freedom, his_ philtatos _. I think I’m more like Hector.”_

_“But Hector was from Troy! You’re Greek!”_

_“That doesn’t mean I can’t relate to him. Hector and I have more in common. He was the strongest of the Trojans, but he didn’t fight for glory. He fought to protect his family and his people. And towards the end of it, he definitely wanted to chuck his brother off of the walls of Troy for getting them all into this mess.”]_

Wilbur stares into the dying fireplace. There’s a blanket around his shoulders that’s warm enough that there’s sweat on the back of his neck despite the bitter chill of winter. In front of him is an untouched cup of hot cocoa, long since gone cold.

Behind him, Techno sighs. “What have you done now, Wilbur?”

Wilbur says nothing.

_[“…His brother, being Paris?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“So who’s Paris, me or Wilbur? Who do you want to throw off a building?”]_

The door flings open, and Techno is suddenly staring at his youngest brother, the boy Wilbur found hidden in the forest, a boy he hasn’t seen in years.

Tommy is hardly a boy anymore, though. A child, without question. But the empty void of his eyes is stripped of any childhood innocence he might’ve had when Techno left.

“I need your help. It’s Wilbur.”

_[“Depends on the day, I suppose.”]_

Quackity doesn’t fall asleep easy. The summers are too hot for him to stop turning and kicking away the sheets until they’re nothing more than a tangled mass at the foot of the mattress, and there aren’t enough blankets in the entire camp to keep him warm during the winter nights. 

Sapnap radiates warmth, though. He’s the son of Hephaestus, the god of fire. Karl has often made a show of claiming that Sapnap is the best cuddler because of it.

It used to make Quackity jealous, in a lot of ways. Until Karl hung off of his arm one night during the summer, complaining that it was too hot and he was melting and Quackity’s skin was somehow so cool. 

It doesn’t make him jealous anymore, when Karl curls into Sapnap’s arms at night. Quackity does it too. There’s no longer guilt weighing him down. He used to feel guilt for everything.

He still does.

_[“But Achilles, Hector, and Paris weren’t the only important people in the story.”_

_“Who else was there?”_

_“There was Agamemnon, the leader of the Greek army. A tyrant who sacrificed his daughter’s life for the sake of war. He was the brother of Helen’s husband. But he just used her as an excuse to go to war.”]_

He tells himself that he’s safe with Sapnap, but the moment he closes his eyes, memories pin Schlatt to his back and there’s a sinister laugh against his neck. 

_‘You and I—’_ Quackity sits upright and forces his eyes open as he tries to keep the memory of Schlatt away, _‘—we can have_ everything _if we want it.’_ Even if Quackity had never _wanted_ everything, even if he never wanted _anything_. Schlatt’s nails still dig into his shoulders and the promise of power drips from his voice like poison that Quackity can’t stop drinking.

_[“There was Briseis, a war prize belonging to Achilles, taken by Agamemnon. Some stories say nothing of her, leaving her forgotten. Others say she was Patroclus’s dear friend.”]_

George hardly laughs these days, but he’s laughing so hard that his sides hurt from gasping for air and his back hurts from hitting the concrete so suddenly. Quackity sings so out of tune — _‘WHERE ARE THE ASKERS’_ — but the lyrics make up for the lack of intonation.

Dream is silent, but next to him, Bad stiffles a giggle. “Dream,” he says, but has to stop himself due to another fit of giggles. “ _Dream,_ I don’t think you’re ever going to socially recover from this.”

“No,” Dream says monotonously, “no, no I don’t think I will.”

George sits up and starts singing loudly with Quackity. The improvised lyrics leave them both horribly out of sync and they’re both singing in different pitches. But it’s the happiest George has felt in a long time.

_[“Patroclus?”_

_“I told you that Achilles had a philtatos. Well, that would be Patroclus.”]_

“I fucking trusted you,” Dream is surrounded by their friends, who keep laughing at his own misery. “I can expect a fucking diss track from Quackity, but you _sang with him_?”

George’s cheeks are read from laughing so much, and he’s still laughing as he kisses Dream. “You’ll survive,” he teases, and ducks his head into the crook of Dream’s neck. Dream kisses the top of George’s head as the son of Aphrodite keeps laughing against Dream’s skin.

“Yeah yeah,” Dream mutters.

_[“One that is often forgotten is Cassandra.”]_

Quackity stands, shrugging Sapnap’s arms off him, gently so he doesn’t wake. It’s long past midnight and Karl is asleep at his desk again. There’s a paper he’s fallen asleep on top of. Most of the letters are written hastily in Greek, and Quackity can’t read them past Karl’s hair.

_[“A young girl, favored and blessed by Apollo, then cursed by him when she refuted his advances.”]_

A woman brushes the hair out of her son’s face. “Careful, Ranboo. You don’t wanna get a paper cut.”

The boy, no older than five, looks at his paper. He’s drawn, with crayons, two figures amidst a battle. When his mother looks at the paper, she sees a young boy wearing a white and red shirt fighting another person wearing neon green, face covered by a mask bearing a smiling face.

“Mama?” Ranboo looks up at his mother. “What happened to Delphi?”

His mother’s heart sinks, and she can almost see her son dying in a war that hasn’t even begun.

_[“She was cursed, doomed to know the future—”]_

Karl’s vision is dark, but his head is filled with images of carnage. There’s Sapnap, holding a sword against Dream’s neck. He sees Niki clutching Wilbur’s sleeve as she tries to pull him back towards her. He sees Quackity pushing Karl behind him as elevator doors close between them and Sapnap, who cradles a corpse against his chest. He sees tears fall from Bad’s face as his sword hangs limp at his side, covered in blood and ichor. He sees Tubbo coated in a deep purple light, standing in front of shadows as Tommy looks at him with betrayal in his eyes. He sees Tommy trekking through a barren tundra. He sees Skeppy with red eyes, standing at the side of a goddess, hears the echo of whispers, _‘Victory is never achieved without sacrifice.’_

_[“—and be unable to change it.”]_

“Don’t you see what’s become of us?” Ranboo yells at them, backed into a corner, and he just wants them all to _listen_. “Don’t you see what’s happening here?”

~~_“Don’t you see history repeating itself?!”_ ~~

“They _want_ us to pick sides! The gods only _benefit_ from this!”

He’s only met with cruel gazes, and maybe there’s a hint of pity from Fundy, but it’s overshadowed by anger.

_[“She knew what would happen. She knew the future, that Troy would fall. But it was her curse that no one would ever believe her.”_

_“And nobody did?”_

_“Nobody did. And she was right, in the end. Troy fell.”]_

Niki stands before a statue of her mother, the ruins of a temple to Nemesis. At the foot of the statue are old balance scales. One of her mother’s symbols.

“Balance,” she says, though she’s hardly sure who she’s speaking to. “My mother is the goddess of revenge, but she also stands for balance. Tearing down those who are prideful. Just like Narcissus. She cursed him, and he died—”

Behind her, Wilbur hums in acknowledgement. “He was the one who fell in love with his own reflection. He died staring at himself on the surface of a lake. He drowned himself.”

Niki nods. She turns to look at Wilbur, and it’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done, to look at the remains of someone she loves. It’s hard to mourn someone who’s still alive, after all. The skin under Wilbur’s eyes is a deep purple. His skin is gaunt and his hands shake as he opens a box of cigarettes and pulls one out. 

“So who do you reckon your mother will tear down this time?” he asks her. Niki doesn’t have an answer. In the silence, Wilbur laughs, deep and mocking and _terrifying_. “Maybe it isn’t Narcissus this time around. Maybe it’s Ophelia.”

Niki furrows her eyebrows. “Ophelia?”

Wilbur steps forward, past Niki, and throws the now empty box of cigarettes onto one of the scales. It creeks as it moves, weighing down on the side where the box lays. Without realizing it, Niki has taken out her lighter and lights Wilbur’s cigarette for him. She doesn’t smoke and she doesn’t think she ever really will, but Wilbur does, and Niki wants to help any part of him she can reach.

Then Wilbur brings the cigarette to his lips. She observes him as he does, inhaling, then bringing the cigarette away and exhaling faded blue smoke. She wonders if it’s _actually_ smoke, or Mist. “She drowned too.”

“What?”

He walks away, back to the statue of Nemesis, and tells her over his shoulder, “Narcissus drowned himself. That’s how she died too. Ophelia drowned.”

_[“The war tore the gods apart. They took sides. Some favored Greece, others favored Troy.”_

_“All of this for Helen? It sounds stupid to me.”]_

The flower Niki picks up out of a vase is still young, the bud hasn’t bloomed yet. She holds it in her hand and wonders what kind of flower it is.

“A peony?”

Puffy cuts the stem of the lilies she’s placing in a vase. “Those are more bush-like.” She smiles at Niki and holds out her hand. Niki gives the flower to her, but rather than taking it, Puffy just closes her hand around Niki’s so that the flower is between them. 

There’s a soft green glow, and the flower ages, slowly beginning to bloom. Niki watches in awe as the leaves part, leaving a soft pink dahlia in her hand.

“It’s beautiful,” she tells Puffy. “Must be nice to be a florist when your mother is the goddess of the harvest.”

“What can I say?” Puffy tucks the flower into the pocket of Niki’s overalls. “Demeter isn’t just about wheat and cereal.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Puffy points at Niki. “Don’t let her hear that, she’ll never shut up about cereal. I’m warning you for your own good.”

The two of them laugh, and Niki wonders how long she can keep this up, how long she can keep trying to be happy. Wilbur’s warning hands over her head like the blade of a guillotine. He warned her of war, of death, of the cruel fate ahead of Camp Half-Blood.

 _“Tell me,”_ he’d asked her, _“who are you loyal to?”_

Niki wonders if everything bad will happen because she’s too much of a coward to make the right choice, or too much of a coward to make the wrong one.

_[“It wasn’t Helen’s fault. She was a victim of a war. She didn’t get to choose anything. Not her husband, not Paris, everyone blames her for the war and that’s just stupid. Hector, Achilles, Odysseus, none of them asked for it.”]_

Athena’s voice enters his head, _‘Avenge me, my son. Bring glory to Olympus.’_

Techno unsheathes his sword and looks out onto the field of monsters. “This is an army,” he tells his mother, even if she’s not really here with him. She’s lingering in his head, a monster he can’t run from and can’t hope to defeat. “I won’t survive this.”

A different voice fills the void that he expects his mother to speak in. It’s still a woman’s voice, but it’s heavier and rougher, lacking any hint of maternal affection. _‘You will. You haven’t died so far. Don’t be a hero. Heroes are the ones that meet terrible fates. Just be stronger than the enemy.’_

He can’t even recognize the enemy anymore. 

The voices claw at him, _Blood for the Blood God,_ then he shifts his weight, and jumps into battle.

_[“That whole war is just stupidly unfair. How does it end?”]_

Mist clings to Karl’s hands and shoulders. _Mist,_ not mist, though the two blur together and he isn’t sure what’s natural and what’s his own powers betraying him.

“Where is he?” he asks Quackity, and his voice is hoarse from screaming. “Where— _where are they_?”

Quackity steps out from behind him. When Karl sees him, he sees pain in his eyes, staring out into a distance that Karl can’t make out. “We have to go,” Quackity says suddenly. He looks— “We have to _go,_ _now!"_

—He looks _terrified_.

Quackity grabs Karl’s arm and hauls him up, dragging him away from the edge of Olympus, towards the elevator that will bring them back down. They’re over the Empire State Building right now, and Olympus is crumbling.

“Wait!” Karl struggles against Quackity’s hold, but he’s a lot weaker right now. He always is. “We can’t leave them! What about Sapnap—”

“He’ll be dead soon if he isn’t already!” Quackity screams. He’s crying. Maybe Karl is too. He can’t tell, anymore. “I need to get you out of here or you will be too!”

Before Karl can say anything else, there’s heat on his back, and Quackity is pulling him behind a statue and shielding his head with his body. The explosion is loud enough to make his eardrums pop, and even with Quackity shielding him, his leg erupts in pain and he screams.

“Fuck!” Quackity yells. They’re surrounded by smoke and ash, and in the distance, they can hear Sapnap screaming.

_[“That depends on who you ask. The fighting went on for years and nothing changed, until Agamemnon’s cruelty got to the better of him and he insulted Achilles. Achilles refused to fight until Hector killed his beloved, Patroclus.”]_

George holds a dagger in his hand. The surface is clean, polished enough to be used as a mirror. He stares at his reflection in it. 

_[“After that, Achilles killed Hector in rage. He put spikes through his feet and dragged Hector’s corpse around Troy for everyone to see.”_

_“That’s gross, but wicked!”_

_“Tommy, no—”]_

Dream stood before the throne room, before the assembled gods.

“You are our favored one,” his father tells him. “You will be the greatest of your generation.”

_[“Paris shot him, killing Achilles. The Greeks feigned surrender. They got in their boats and left the Trojan Horse as an offering to the gods for safe passage home. The Trojans took the horse into their city to mess with them, and then the Greeks attacked.”_

_“They were inside the horse, how did no one see that coming?”_

_“Well no one had ever hidden an army inside of a wooden horse before. We’d be suspicious if someone tried that now_ because _it’s been used before.”]_

“Something new,” Tubbo says. “If we do something that’s been done before, we’ll never get our own bead!” He observes the beads on his camp necklace, each clay bead symbolizing one summer, painted with an important or memorable event. 

“We’re still sixteen,” Tommy holds his arms out. They’re on half-blood hill, looking out onto the entire camp. “We have a few more years. But I think this is it. We’ll inspire a bead even if it kills us!”

“I’d prefer it if it doesn’t kill us,” Tubbo says.

_[“So all of those people died just because Paris wanted a pretty girl? This is why I say money is better than women.”_

_“I…I mean I like money but I wouldn’t put it like that—”_

_“Humans are stupid.”_

_“We’re half human, Tommy. Besides, it was still the gods.”_

_“How?”]_

Tubbo’s smile is worth any doubts Tommy may have. “It’s okay if this doesn’t go as planned, Tommy. I don’t think it will. But we can still have fun!”

Tommy shakes his head. “I think we can hit two birds with one stone. We can do something epic enough to get us a bead, and if it’s impressive, maybe your mother will finally claim you.”

“You don’t have to do it all for me.”

Tommy lightly shoves Tubbo’s shoulders, and the two of them laugh. “I’m doing it for myself too! It’s not _all_ about you!”

_[“Don’t get me wrong, Paris was stupid. But he didn’t put the golden apple in their hands. It was the goddess of chaos, Eris, who threw the apple. She was angry because she wasn’t invited to the wedding of King Peleus and the goddess Thetis. So she decided to cause some chaos.”]_

The counselors surround Tommy, who clutches the bandages around his upper arm. “Please,” he chokes out. “I can’t just leave! I can’t do this on my own!”

“A decision hasn’t been made yet,” Eret tells him. Tommy can’t tell if they sound sorry or not. “There needs to be a majority ruling amongst the head counselors.”

And Tubbo hasn’t voted yet.

_[“You know…most myths say that Helen was a daughter of Zeus. But a lot of others say that she was a child of Nemesis. Just like you.”]_

Tommy grips a compass tightly in his hand. It’s covered in dirt and grime and the glass is cracked. He runs his thumb over the inscription, _Your Tubbo_.

_[“I suppose Eris really screwed Helen over then.”_

_“Perhaps. She didn’t mean to.”_

_“She still did.”_

_“You could see it that way.”]_

Tubbo barely whispers the words, “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy’s gut turns to ice. “No—”

“I vote in favor.”

Hands pry his hand from his wounded shoulder, and celestial bronze shackles snap shut around Tommy’s wrists. 

_Don’t be a hero, Tommy._

_[“What’s the point of learning any of this?”_

_“You’re the one who wanted to learn about it.”_

_“I thought the message might be a little more clear. Like in Disney movies!”_

_“Reality is a bit harsher than that.”]_

The three of them are twelve years old, standing underneath the pine tree on half-blood hill, and Dream feels lighter on his feet than he ever has.

“Quests are three people,” he tells Sapnap and George. “I get to bring two companions.”

Sapnap’s eyes widen, and George’s brighten up. 

“I want you two to come with me,” he tells them.

Sapnap jumps to his feet first. “Yes! I’m so going!” He grabs his sword from the ground, where it leans against the pine tree, and he starts running down the hill. “I gotta tell Bad—I’ll see you guys at dinner!”

It leaves Dream and George alone. George, who still hasn’t given him an answer.

The smile leaves Dream’s face when he sees that George is expressionless. His dark eyes still flicker, but there isn’t any indication of any feeling outside of it. “You don’t have to,” Dream assures. “I can ask Bad or Ant. It’ll be dangerous. You could like, get hurt and die.”

George blinks, then the corner of his lips pull into a small smile. “I’ll go.”

Dream pauses. “Really?”

George nods, and when he smiles fully, it feels like something grounds Dream, keeps him from floating away. “Yeah,” he says. “I want to. I can’t just let you and Sapnap take all the glory, right?”

“Of course not,” Dream says. “Take as much of it as you need.”

George laughs, and maybe it’s worth it. 

Dream loops his arm through George’s and pulls him up to stand. “Come on! Let’s go see everyone else, or someone’s going to steal my seat at my table!”

“It’s not my fault the Hermes table is so crowded!”

“It’s not mine either!”

They succeed on their quest. They return home and burn their shrouds and are crowned with laurels. There’s a celebration that they’re all alive and in one piece. They successfully complete every quest they have, until they don’t.

* * *

The door downstairs opens, and Tommy jumps a little in his bed. His eyes widen. “Wilbur!” he yells, “You’re back!”

Techno throws another stuffed animal at him. “You’re supposed to be _sleeping_.”

Tommy pauses. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.”

Footsteps run up the stairs, and Wilbur throws the door open dramatically. “Tommy!” he says, like he hasn’t seen Tommy in years even though they just saw each other earlier that afternoon. “You’ve survived the winter!”

Tommy jumps down from his bed and hugs Wilbur. Behind him, Techno tells them, “It’s _still_ _winter_ , this isn’t worth celebration at all—”

“Boys,” Philza says as he calmly steps in front of the door, not entering, opting to start in the hallway. Tommy sheepishly hides behind Wilbur. “I believe it’s late for _all_ of us. Tommy, you need to rest.”

“I’ll have you know it was all Tommy’s fault,” Techno says. “I told him to go to bed and he made me tell him a bedtime story.”

Tommy points at Techno accusingly. “It wasn’t a bedtime story!”

“And you listened?” Philza asks pointedly, but he’s smiling, so Tommy isn’t too worried.

“You know I don’t do well under pressure, Phil,” Techno defends. Wilbur laughs at him and says something in Ancient Greek that makes Techno’s face flush with anger, and then the two of them are arguing back and forth in a language that Tommy can only half understand.

Tommy squeezes around from behind Wilbur and tugs Philza’s sleeve. “Can you finally start teaching me to speak Ancient Greek?” he asks.

Philza smiles down at him. He looks tired, and Tommy realizes that Philza’s green coat is stained with monster dust. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he promises, holding out a pinky on instinct. Tommy holds out his own pinky and curls it around Philza’s. “I think Wilbur and Techno won’t like that though. That’s the only way they get away with cursing in front of you.”

“Can you teach me the bad words first?” Tommy asks, suddenly even more excited.

“No.”

“Come on! How did Wilbur learn?”

“From Techno.”

“How did _he_ learn?”

“I’m not sure I know. Nor do I _want_ to.”

Tommy glares, then turns around and squeezes his way in between Wilbur and Techno, who are still arguing. He tugs on each of their sleeves. “Can one of you teach me how to curse in Greek?”

“No,” they both say in perfect unison.

“Are you guys _sure_ you’re not twins?” Tommy grumbles. 

Techno splutters in shock, then exclaims, “I’m _not_ that _thing’s_ twin!”

Wilbur turns to Techno in shock. “You _shit_ —!”

Tommy climbs onto his bed and holds his toy minotaur like a microphone, “And it looks like Technoblade’s losing his temper, who will make the first move?” He uses his best announcer voice. Just as Techno steps forward, probably to strangle Wilbur, Tommy continues, “Just as I thought, ladies and gentlemen and whatever else!” Phil steps into the room and pulls Wilbur and Techno apart by the backs of their shirts. “Oh no! The Angel of Death is stopping the fight! How will this _possibly_ end—”

“Go to sleep, Tommy,” Philza calls over his shoulder as he drags Techno and Wilbur out of Tommy’s room. Tommy’s brothers are still arguing, and Tommy can hear their voices all the way from the end of the hall.

Tommy jumps off of his bed and closes the door, not completely, just enough that light from the hallway still streams into his room. When he turns to step back into his bed, he sees the unbalanced scales that hold an eraser on one end, still sitting on his desk.

There’s an old pencil sharpener in a pile of clutter at the other end of Tommy’s desk. He grabs it and puts it on the empty scale. The scales balance out, perfectly holding equal amounts of weight.

Tommy grins to himself, no one there to see him, to see this tiny bit of amusement he has. His brothers are still arguing somewhere in the house and Philza is telling them to quiet down so Tommy can sleep.

It might as well not be for nothing, so Tommy climbs into bed and lays on his side so that he can see the window, where outside, snow continues to fall in light flurries.

 _Next year,_ he thinks to himself. _Next year, I’ll go to Camp Half-Blood and start training. I’ll fight even better than Technoblade, so Philza doesn’t have to worry about protecting the family._

Tommy clutches the stuffed minotaur to his chest and closes his eyes. 

_‘Don’t be a hero, Tommy.’_

_Not yet,_ his mind relaxes, and he slips into sleep, _not yet_.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: So you know how I said this fic is essentially a “trailer” for a multi-chapter story? Well the first chapter of that multi-chapter is up! It’s the next fic in the series, titled ‘Pylos’. Check it out~!


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